


I've Got You Under My Skin

by Zillywhointhewhatnow



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Alternating, bonding over bad pranks, prank war shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zillywhointhewhatnow/pseuds/Zillywhointhewhatnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young man that moved in next door was taking his sweet time introducing himself to the neighbors; and being the gentleman that you are, you decide to take the initiative and approach him first. </p><p>Bro Strider is new to town, and who better to welcome him than the ever polite, composed, and handsome young James Egbert with an armada of pranks up his sleeves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's On

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting on archive and I have no idea what I'm doing!

The young man that moved in next door was taking his sweet time introducing himself to the neighbors; and being the gentleman that you are, you decide to take the initiative and approach him first.

You bake him a chocolate cake with a chocolate hazelnut frosting and decorate with edible pearls on top. Your work is flawless, as to be expected from a master baker such as yourself—the recipes that you carried down from your mother were always winners. You approach his door, cake in hands, warm grin on your face, pride glowing on your features, and knock. You wait excited and giddy. You always did love meeting new people.

Your new neighbor opens the door and your heart immediately drops.

He’s a young, disheveled man with messy hair, wrinkled shirt and ill-fitting pants. He wears the most ridiculous sunglasses you have ever seen. Black and pointed and sticking out from under a grey baseball cap. He can’t be a day over twenty-two. You do your best to withhold judgments as hard as that may be and smile at him regardless. “Hello neighbor! You hadn’t stopped by to say hello yet, so I thought I’d come by and bring you a cake to say welcome to the neighborhood.” You beam at him and hold the cake up just a tad higher to emphasize it’s majesty.

He raises a brow and inspects you behind those inscrutable shades, “Uh, sweet,” was all he could manage. “Come on in, we can set it down and get these introductions going.” His voice has a very slight twang to it, as if he was attempting to hide a southern accent. He seems nice enough. Welcoming you into his home, eager to introduce himself. Perhaps he’s not as bad as you initially thought.

His home is a disaster. He had moved in nearly a week earlier and there are boxes, empty, unopened, pizza, moving, all sorts—everywhere. He leads you to a kitchen area and he gestures for you to set the cake on the counter. You do so and nonchalantly slip your hand in your pocket.

“So, uh, this is the place. It’s a bit crazy right now. My kid brother loves to mess around in the boxes.” You don’t believe a word of that, but the detail of a kid brother catches your ear. You briefly wonder how old. The same age as John? “The name’s Strider. Bro Strider preferably but call me what you will.”

You raise a brow,” Your first name is ‘bro’?”

“Well, uh, not exactly. But I can’t have the kid calling me dad, now can I?” He chuckles.

You also let out a soft laugh, “Well, then call can me Egbert. Dad Egbert.” You can play his game, too. “I have a young son of my own.” You explain as you offer a handshake. The poor sap didn’t know what he was getting into.

“No kidding? How old? Dave’s just about four.” He’s slow to accept. Don’t blow this Egbert, you are a pranking _god._ You can’t let this fail. First impressions are everything.

“Really? So is John. They’ll have to have a playdate sometime.” Strider finally stretches out his arm and grasps your hand.

You can hear the buzzer going, but Strider appears unfazed. It should be shocking him. Why is his grip so tight? He gives your hand a firm shake and smiles at you. “Oh so you’re a prankster?” He says through gritted teeth.

You tug your hand away as soon as he lets go and grin at him sheepishly, “Guilty.” You take off the hand buzzer and put it back in your pocket. “I thought a little welcome to the neighborhood prank was in order. You see right through me, Strider.”

He rests his hands on his hips and grins, “No damage. Its cool. Just prepare yourself.”                                    

You raise a brow as a slow grin curls onto your lips, “Prepare myself for what?”

Before Bro could answer, a young child appears in the doorway also sporting strange, pointed glasses not unlike Bro’s. “Bo who’s ‘at?” He asks in a small voice. He pads into the room clad in red shorts and a white shirt with a pink heart on it.

“This is our neighbor Mr. Egbert. He made us a cake, isn’t that nice?” He answers kneeling down. The young boy clumbs into his arms and Strider hoists him up, “And Daddy Egs,” You cringe at the nickname, “This is my lil bro, Dave.”

You smile sweetly at him and wave to which he buried his face in the elder Strider’s neck.

“He’s just shy.” Strider assures. You nod in understanding.

“Well it was lovely meeting you two, and I would love to stay, but I must go pick up John from daycare. So enjoy your cake, and welcome to the neighborhood.” You smile as you make your way to the door.

As you leave, Strider comes up behind you to call out, “It’s on, Egbert. Its on.”

You can’t help but grin to yourself as you walk away. You think you’re going to enjoy having this man as your neighbor. 


	2. Dick in a Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((it's a dick cake))

The moment you see him, you swear you’re in love. Or at least, your dick is. The way his jet black locks are neatly parted and not a single hair is out of place. The way his shirt is perfectly pressed. His pants were tailored perfectly. His shoes are neatly shined. He smells like shaving cream and frosting and caramel and goddamn you never thought you’d think that was attractive. And he comes with a fucking cake in his hands. Does it get any better than this? No. You think not.

And so you play it cool. You don’t want to ruin your first impression. Fuck, you hope he doesn’t notice how messy the hair sticking out from under your cap is. You feel bad for living like a rat and you’re glad you’ve got the kid to blame it on. Just play it cool, Strider. You’ve got this.

You love the sound of his voice and briefly wonder what it would sound like husky and deep whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Calm down boy, you’ve only just met him.

Everything seems to go fine, even when the prankster wants to pull one over on you. God, you could just see the worry in his eyes when you gripped his hand. And the little guy coming out and playing cute for the guest. Fucking perfect.

You don’t trip over your words or your feet. You don’t say something stupid. He leaves with a smile on his face. Your heart skips a beat and you shamelessly check out his ass as he leaves. It’s nicer than you expected.

You wonder if it’s too soon to propose.

You only close the door after he’s long gone and your heart drops when you realize that you’re going to have to have the most perfect prank in response. You can tell that the buzzer prank wasn’t even small potatoes to this guy. They’re miniscule-- microscopic potatoes at best. Fuck it, you need a dope ass prank to one up this guy and show him you mean business. And you need to do it Strider style.

Dave nuzzles your neck and tugs at your hair and you’re brought back to reality. “Bo stoppit.” He squirms and you put him down.

“Stop what?” You kneel beside him and stare into his shades.

“Stop _it_.”

How you adore children.

You shift to sit beside him, “What is it li’l man? Do you not like Mr. Egbert?”

“No.” He brings his hands to his face for no reason other to be a cute little shit.

“Do you not like the new house?”

“No it’s cool!” His voice is loud. He likes the new house.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His voice is barely audible and he hides his face in his hands and you give up.

“Well go play. We can have cake later.” He mumbles a response and trots away, what had been troubling him before was clearly forgotten. You hope he doesn’t get into your shit.

Once the kid is preoccupied with puppets and other shit to play with, you set to work. You know exactly what to do next. You sort of laugh. It’s so simple. So elegant. Show the man what you’re about. Show the man that you mean business. You google the number for the local bakery.

 

You drop the box off on Egbert’s doorstep and knock twice. A small tinge of sadness tugs at your heart because you won’t get to see his beautiful face when he opens the box, but you can’t have it all, now can you? Once safely inside your home, you peek out the window to see if you could watch from afar. Your view is skewed by a tree, but you can just make out his face.

He looks down at the box and opens it in one swift movement.

Confusion.

Embarrassment.

Anger.

Determination.

God, you fall in love with him all over again. His expressions are beautiful. The arch of his brow, the pink that dusts his cheeks, that stern, set jaw. And then piercing blue eyes are staring straight at you and he knows damn well where that box came from. You duck away from the window but he’s seen you and you know it.

You heart’s pounding. Your mind is racing. You hadn’t felt this giddy and foolish since you were a teenager and _damn_ does it feel good.

You tempt another glance out the window and he’s laughing. You bet it sounds like honey and cream and you bet it tastes like it too. Or like coffee and chocolate hazelnut cake and fuck you’re getting ahead of yourself. He leaves back into his house, his shoulders shaking through his laughter.

 

You dream about him that night. You almost feel guilty about it, too. Almost.

Is voice is deep and rich and his laughter is just as smooth and perfect as when you imagined it earlier. His moans sound sweeter than any laugh. You wake ready to hear them in your ear. Ready to see him in your bed.

And you remind yourself that isn’t how it works. There are cautions and questions and you can’t just jump headfirst into this—as much as you’d love to.

And still, you hate how cold the other side of your bed is. But you love this new passion. You’re endlessly curious about this Egbert. You want to know every part of him. You want to memorize is biography and map out each scar he might have hidden under that perfectly pressed dress shirt.

Lazily, you trod through the house. Big, filled with boxes, half unpacked. You should really get on that sometime soon.

As you slink into the kitchen, something painfully stark and white against the dark hardwood floor catches your eye. Padding over, you see that it’s a small note. You pick it up and it reads simply in neat script.

“Open the door.”

The faint scent of Barbasol and frosting wafts up from the note and you know it’s from him.

In hindsight, you should’ve guessed that he had something planned but you ignore the thought that he might be pranking you. Instead, you yank open the door overly excited, eager, expecting… something. You don’t really know what.

Stepping out onto the porch, you find a box, not unlike the one you left on Egbert’s porch the day before. Slightly skeptical, you open it to find a seemingly innocent cake. Once you open the box, a faint ticking sound starts up.

You raise a brow and look over to his house. There he is, grinning smugly and beautifully and—god he’s got dimples. He waves at you as he grabs the newspaper. “Morning, neighbor!” He calls and your heart is fucking fluttering and you stare and fuck he’s so hot. You awkwardly raise a hand to wave back and the point down to the box. He nods and grins and you don’t even really register that a soft ding goes off.

You don’t really know what happens next. You vaguely recognize that something splats on your legs, chest and face and that Egbert bursts up laughing on his porch. You look down to the box and, yes, the cake has exploded. Sly fucking fox.

You stare at the mess that is your porch completely dumbfounded.

“I don’t know if you realize just what you’ve started, Strider.”

His voice is close. When did he move over here? Jesus, get it together, Strider. You turn to him slowly and reach up to wipe some frosting from your shades. He’s there right in front of you. Your face heats up and you lick your lips, tasting buttercream frosting.

He looks at the box at your feet totally calm, “I liked the cake you sent me. Quite… creative. Though, it wasn’t exactly medically accurate.” He takes a step closer to you and your heart leaps into your throat. “The custard filling was a nice touch.” He reaches out and wipes a bit of frosting from your cheek and licks it off his finger.

And it should have been illegal.

You continue to stare at him ignoring how tight your pants are becoming. He takes a step closer, your chests are almost touching. “You’re going to have to step up your game if you hope to best the pranking master.”

You wonder if he notices your boner before he turns and walks away.

 


	3. Pon Pon Pon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the random hiatus. I'm giving a ted talk in a week and so yeah I've been focusing my time on that. Anyway, enjoy the short chapter.

You have no idea what devil possessed you to act like you did on Strider’s porch. You hadn’t so much as flirted with anyone since before John was born and certainly not someone you just met. But you did it. You ate frosting off of his face, and gosh, he did respond well.

You hold your breath as you walk away. Try to maintain your composure. As soon as you’re back in your home, you’re frazzled, blushing furiously, regretting it all. You lean against the door, cursing the world and feeling stupid.

John’s smashing on the piano, and it quickly brings you out of your mind. You head to the study to quiet him and get him ready for daycare.

That little incident in the morning has you distracted all day at work. It’s a wonder that you make it through the day. You can just see his face, his eyes widened behind the stupid glasses he always seems to be wearing and the frosting splattered against his front. It was a perfect prank, executed brilliantly, if you do say so yourself.

That bright red of his cheeks. That hint of arousal. You shouldn’t be thinking so much about it. There is _work_ to be done. You can’t go on worrying about some kid who moved in next door.

And yet. . .

He continues to plague your mind until you’ve picked John up from daycare, until you’re at home, making dinner, watching a movie with John—anything. You hate how much you enjoy his face by the end of the night.

But you move on. There’s no time tie dwell on something so small in your life. You had hit him back with an excellent prank and now you can wait for him to forfeit or retaliate. There’s no need to worry about why you had acted so flirtatiously or whatever is going on in his brain.

The next morning you leave for work feeling slightly better. You’re more productive that day and by the time you head home from work a bit early. You decide to go home and make some cookies before going and picking John up from daycare. Your neighbor is far from your mind.

That is, until you open your door. Suddenly, your house is filled with loud what sounds like Japanese pop music. Confused as all hell, you close the door behind you and peer into your living room, moving cautiously.

There, standing on your furniture in a frilly, lacy, pink dress was your neighbor. He stares down at you from your coffee table, face devoid of emotion and black shades taunting you.

“Egbert-shi kon'nichiwa. Watashi ga inakute sabishikattadesu ka?” He pops a hip out and rests a hand on his hip, gripping at pink and white lace.

Your face burns so bright you swear you could light the room. Your draw drops and you fail to form words.

He stands completely unabashed, with his unshaved legs poking out from under the ruffles of his skirt and his blond hair pushed back and clipped with a bow and you can’t help but laugh. Hard. Gasping for air and doubled over. He lean on the couch and your eyes water.

“G-Good God, Strider!” You barely manage the words out between laughter. Not that he could hear you over the sound of the music. “What in the world are you wearing?” You grin up at him. He got you. He got you good.

And his poker face faltered. And he smiled at you. And all of those thoughts from the day before came flooding back and you’re glad your face is already red from laughing so hard or else you’d turn a very obvious shade of embarrassed.

He steps down from the coffee table and moves over to your stereo. He turns off the music and strolls over to where you were, “You gonna be alright? Do I need to call someone?” He chuckles softly.

“Was that even a prank?” You turn to face him, still biting back laughter.

“Nah,” He laughs, “I just wanted an excuse to dress up all cute and stand on your coffee table.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Does that mean I win?”

“Not a chance.” 

And that was the moment when you feel that you two really became friends. He, in a pink and white frilly dress which he, admitedly, looked quite fetching in. And you, eyes still watering from laughter. 

"I have to go pick my son up in about a half an hour. Would you like to keep me company until then?" You grin softly, staring up into those ridiculous sunglasses. 

His grin widens, "Sure. I don't have anything going on." 

And so you spend the next half an hour with him. He doesn't bother changing, which you don't mind all too much. Strider is... eccentric to say the least. In all honesty, it would've been strange to have it any other way. He explains that he's an entrepreneur working from home, though he refuses to really get into the details surrounding his business. He talks a lot about someone named Cal, and you have entirely no idea who this Cal person is. You decide it must be his lover or something based on how he speaks so fondly of him. He talks a bit about Dave and how he's coming up. Going to preschool. 

You talk very briefly about your work and mention that you like to bake, though you were far more intrigued with what he had to say. And he didn't seem to mind talking for the majority of your conversation. 

When you leave to pick up John, you're grinning stupidly to yourself. You hadn't felt this giddy since college. A shame that there's this Cal person in the picture, though. You'll have to figure out more about him. 

All in all, you'd say that the day was a success. 


End file.
